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“No need. You helped Logan and me so many times, making kids’ wishes come true. We appreciated you and Madison visiting the sick children in the hospital.”

“Are you happy you went into pediatric cancer? Isn’t it depressing?”

“Most days are filled with laughter. I love kids. Obviously, I have three.”

“Evy, Slade, and…” I can’t recall the newest child’s name.

“Greer. He’s the youngest, and he looks exactly like his dad.”

She pulls out her phone and shows us the most recent photos. Greer has blond hair and blue eyes with a football in his hand. Lettie and I fawn all over the picture. “He’s adorable.”

I just realized I’m the only female here without kids, except Stella. “Speak of the…”

Stella stands beside Oakley and Oakley says, “Stella is going to hang out with us while John snorkels with the guys.”

I smile.

Stella smiles.

They’re both as fake as a three-dollar bill as Mamaw used to say.

Luckily, the beachfront waiter appears with drinks on a tray.

“It’s vacay. Who wants margaritas?” Oakley asks.

“Me! I prefer daiquiris, but don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.”

The waiter hands out our drinks. “I’ll be back in a few minutes. Would you ladies like any food?”

“No food. It’s party time,” Lettie says before she gulps her drink. “We’re kid free and need to let loose.”

For the next hour, we drink margaritas, and the sun makes it feel like I’ve had five drinks when I’ve only had three.

Stella has barely said a word even when someone asks her a question. Brooke asks, “How did you meet “The Godfather?”

“Who’s the Godfather?”

Even Oakley knows about the team calling him the Godfather. She snickers, but Brooke answers, “John. They called him the Godfather in college because he made the guys kiss his dad’s Frozen Four rings.”

“And they thought his dad was in the mob.” Lettie adds her two slurring cents.

Stella’s brows furrow toward the center. She ignores the last statement and says, “His dad introduced us several years ago and his dad is not in the mob.”

Then of course, Lettie, who has no filter, adds, “Didn’t I see you being photographed with Sean Suarez, the professional baseball player.”

“John and I were on a break.”

Our heads bob up and down in understanding. Stella doesn’t offer anything else. She’s stiffer than the life-sized cardboard movie displays.

“Oh, John’s coming back.” She prances in his direction, with her long, golden hair catching in the breeze. Stella stops, handing him her phone, and sinks to her knees on the pristine white sand, instructing him on where to stand to take pictures of her. I don’t know exactly how old she is, but most of us are in our thirties, except for Oakley, who just turned twenty-two.

Not meaning to say it where anyone can hear, I mumble, “Grow up.”

Oakley shakes her head, looking at me. “They’ll never work. I know I’ve only known John about a year, but he’s a Fireball shot, and she’s a glass of chardonnay—boring.”

CHAPTER FOUR

John